


Steal My Words Away

by carpelucem



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpelucem/pseuds/carpelucem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never been tardy for first period, not once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal My Words Away

Rachel didn't try to dress provocatively as a rule in high school. Objectively, she knew her figure was nice from the hours she put in on her treadmill and the rigorous dance rehearsal schedule she adhered to. But she never set out to tempt anyone with her skirts and sweater sets, in fact they were far more modest than the Cheerio uniforms that half the school seemed to parade the halls in. The knee socks or tights were always just practical (her legs got cold and they lived in Ohio) and the heels - she was already short enough, they prevented Coach Sylvester from trying to send Rachel back to the elementary school across the street.

She was running late on that Thursday morning (Patti LuPone was a guest on the Today show and Rachel couldn't tear herself away from the screen) and tried to stifle a curse when she discovered her favorite pair of navy blue stockings had a giant hole in the toe. The rest of her stuff was in the laundry hamper (Thursdays were delicates), she was already going to be late for Spanish, and Mr Schue was the one teacher she didn't want to disappoint. (Her perfect attendance record had nothing to do with it, she told herself.) Rifling through her dresser, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when she found a pack of unopened socks shoved in the back of a drawer. She hadn’t even realized they were there. She made a mental note to thank her dads later for buying them, then started to pull them on. Rolling one on over her ankle and calf, Rachel started to smooth it up over her skin, straighten the top hem, but the sock just kept going, until the band stopped at the lower part of her thigh. 

Normally, her school socks had hit right under her kneecap.

She was already running late, so she smoothed the other one on and Rachel fumbled for the package on her bed. Sure enough, it stated 'tall' for the length instead of her usual petite. Her dad must have just grabbed the first pack he found, because they were not her usual brand or style. 

Looking in the mirror, Rachel found that the extra inches of cotton spandex mostly covered her, but when she sat, they left a slice of her thigh bare between the top of her sock and the bottom of her skirt. It was a...different look for her. Not really bad, just not what she was used to, and definitely not her usual school attire. (Normally, she would just change, but her outfit was especially coordinated for glee practice after school and the number from The Sound of Music she'd been practicing all week.) 

Glancing at the clock, the time taunted her and she just decided to go for it. At least she'd be warm. Shoving the crumpled wrapper in her wastebasket, Rachel grabbed her bag, a banana from the kitchen on her way out the door, and headed off to school.

Once at McKinley, Rachel heard the warning bell ring as she parked her car. Rushing across the lot, she scaled the stairs (with remarkable grace for three inch heels and rain, she thought) and darted through the crowd of students, but her legs were too short and Spanish had been moved to the portable outbuildings that semester while the language arts wing was fumigated for a rare South American cockroach infestation. (Coach Sylvester averted her eyes guiltily any time it was brought up.)

The final bell pealed just as Rachel burst through the exterior doors. Rain fell a little harder and Rachel slowed her speed, flipping up the hood of her jacket. She was late already, a few seconds wouldn't matter. It was Mr Schuester, he’d been her glee coach for three years, hopefully he'd let her slide just this once. (She chided herself the whole way, why couldn't she have scheduled her free period for first hour instead of second, how could she not foresee such situations arising? Hindsight was such a bitch sometimes.)

Twisting the handle of the door, Rachel shook the raindrops off her coat and tried to compose herself before entering. As much as she adored the spotlight onstage and in the choir room, Rachel despised making an entrance in class. She took a deep breath and walked in. 

"And today, we're discussing the politics of South America...Miss Berry. Nice of you to join us." Mr Schue gave her a little frown as she walked past him and slid into the only free seat on the front row. She mouthed 'sorry', trying her best to look contrite until he turned back to the board, then she pulled her folder out. 

It went from bad to worse through the duration of the class. Rachel had tried to participate, to get back on Mr Schue's good side, but he was in a foul mood and either ignored her or gave her that same obnoxious disapproving stare. It was frustrating because she hadn't done anything wrong, she was possibly the only person in his first period without a string of tardies. 

Fifty-three long minutes later, the bell rang, and Rachel uncrossed her ankles and reached down to stuff her notebook and papers back into her bag. Normally, she'd stay on a few minutes, it was Mr Schuester's free period, too, and sometimes she'd offer song selections for glee, help him with grading worksheets, or discuss the monthly run of musicals on TCM. Rachel enjoyed the rare one-on-one time with him, but today she had the feeling that he'd be more likely to rip into her than welcome her presence, based on his actions during class, and arguments with Mr Schue were the worst. 

Shouldering her bag, Rachel noticed the classroom had emptied out quickly, the dark mood their teacher was in clearly apparent to the students. 

She threw a last look at Mr Schue, sitting at the desk, flipping through a stack of assignment folders. Rachel almost made it to the door when she heard his voice behind her. 

"Rachel, a word, please." 

Heaving a breath that was a touch dramatic, she crossed back to the row of desks and dropped her bag in the closest seat. Rachel pasted on a smile, turned back to the front of the room and started in on her explanation, trying her best to tread lightly.

"Have a seat." 

She sat primly down in her normal chair, directly in front of the board and his desk. "I'm sorry Mr Schue, I didn't mean to be late. It was just rainy and I had a wardrobe malfunction and it's my first tardy." 

Mr Schuester leaned back in his seat, crossing his hands over his abdomen and watching her intently while she rattled off her excuses. The furrow between his brows deepened and she had the vague sensation she could actually feel his gaze on her as she talked. A flush was starting at the back of her neck from the way he regarded her with such focused intensity. 

"And I don't know why you're so upset with me...I've never been late before," the words trailed off.

"No, you've never missed a lesson." Mr Schuester said absently, pushing himself up so he was sitting straight in his chair. Then he looked back at Rachel, his gaze sweeping from her bangs down to the tips of her shoes, lingering just a beat longer somewhere in the middle. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but a wardrobe malfunction? What does that even mean?"

"Yes, my sock had a hole in the toe, and I have to wear this for my Sound of Music performance in glee later, and I was trying to find something that would coordinate." It had seemed perfectly logical that morning, but now, it was a flimsy excuse even to her ears. (She'd left out Patti LuPone altogether, it was not going to be nearly as amusing an anecdote Rachel thought it would be, and nothing she needed to share with him right that moment.)

Mr Schue rose from his desk, moved to stand in front of her. 

"And you thought these were," he seemed to take a moment to find the right word as his eyes raked over her, as if what he wanted to say was printed somewhere on her person and if he looked long enough, he just might find it. "You thought these were an appropriate alternative?" 

"Well, they're the wrong size, for one, someone must have gotten me tall socks instead of petite and they were the only thing left in my drawer. But they're six inches longer than the socks I normally wear, so I'm not violating the dress code or anything, Mr Schue. If anything, they’re even more appropriate." 

His eyes narrowed and he came closer. "Get up, Rachel." 

She smoothed her hands over her skirt and moved in front of the row of desks. He advanced another few steps and, instinctively, Rachel moved back. Her thighs hit the front lip of the desk and her fingers gripped the edge tightly, totally unsure of what was happening. 

He knelt down before her, ran a finger experimentally over her calf. It was soft, his touch, far softer than the look in his eyes when his gaze flicked up to hers. "They're for a performance in glee, you said?" 

"What, my socks? They are, but I don't understand. Mr Schue?” There was something foreign and strangely appealing in his voice, pitched low and a little rough, like his hands on her legs. 

“You said you were late to my class because of your socks. I just wanted to see for myself what about them could possibly make you tardy.” His fingers slid a little higher, just past the hem of her skirt. Rachel’s heart was pounding and her breath caught swiftly in her throat. This was definitely wrong, they were in school, for heaven’s sakes, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. 

“I can roll them down if they’re not appropriate, I didn’t know they would be-” Rachel tried to reach down, but his fingers suddenly clamped tightly around her wrist, manacling them in his hand.

“Don’t. Even. Think about it.” His eyes were dark and his lips was parted and Rachel tried to ignore the way he pressed closer, how much she liked it. How the teacher who was ever so careful about rebuffing advances (she still cringed at that afternoon her sophomore year with the gift and pledge of undying love) and always remaining aboveboard with his actions and words was suddenly trapping her in an empty classroom on the far edge of campus, like some kind of predatory animal. And Rachel had been called a lot of things in her life - selfish, self-centered, oblivious to anything but what she wanted - but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that Mr Schuester before her with his hands on her body, touching her with such a deliberate focus, was not because of her late arrival to his class. 

“Mr Schue, I don’t know what you want.” 

“What do you want, Rachel?” 

It was curious to know that after all that time, a stupid pair of socks had him on his knees, looking like he was ready to come apart and take her with him. The rush of power it gave Rachel made her bold, years of craving his approval and working her hardest for a smile or word of encouragement, it fed that lion in her belly. 

“You.” 

His breath hissed out and then his mouth was on hers, one hand buried in her hair, the other on her waist, curving down around her hip, slipping under her skirt to palm her ass. She felt hairpins slip and barely registered them hitting the floor. The quick bite of his fingernails on her skin startled her, and she almost jumped, trapped between the desk and the firm wall of his chest. His kiss was different than she expected, insistent and hungry, but with far less force than his actions betrayed. The gentleness almost wrecked her, and Rachel tipped her head back, felt his hand smooth her hair out of the way before his lips traced down her throat and under the collar of her blouse. He fastened his mouth over her collarbone, sucking what would surely be a bruise tomorrow (hell, by lunch) into her skin, scraping his teeth over the delicate skin, soothing it with his tongue. 

Rachel’s hands spread over his shoulders, feeling the muscle bunched under the cotton of his shirt, clutching at his belt, tugging it free from his pants. She slid her palm against the warm skin on his lower back, scratching her fingernails just a touch too deep, because she heard a gasp against her neck. 

“Rachel, fuck.” (God, she hoped so.) He nudged at her with his hips, lifting her onto the narrow desk, and her knees spread easily for Mr Schuester. Her thighs were like brackets around his body, and she crossed her ankles behind his hips so she could feel him, hard and insistent against her. She wondered how much of his attention she’d missed out on wearing stupid knee socks instead of the thigh highs and just how long he’d fantasized about doing this, about taking her in his classroom. 

“Years, Rachel. Fucking years.” 

And holy shit, she’d uttered that last part aloud, but her embarrassment was tempered by the ragged want in his voice and the way his thumb slipped under her buttons, one by one, leaving her shirt open to his mouth licking down her chest, tugging the edge of her bra over with his teeth and pulling her nipple between his lips. 

Rachel could feel her breath shorten, the little electric arrows of feeling shooting straight down when his teeth scraped over her skin. His other hand stole back under her thigh, teased at the edge of her panties, cupping her through the fabric. 

“Mr Schue, please,” and she didn’t know just what she was asking for, but she bit down gently on his earlobe and an honest-to-God growl worked out of his throat. He shoved his hands under her and lifted her up, moving them across the narrow span of floor to his desk, setting her on the edge of it. She fumbled with his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making her a little more excited (and wasn’t that something to file away for later), and her hand slipped under the waist of his boxers, found him hot and hard against her palm. He groaned when she wrapped her fist around him, sliding against his skin, long strokes that she twisted at the end, until his chin dropped to her shoulder. His tongue discovered the hollow behind her ear like his fingers discovered her wet and slick for him. When he slid into her, those long, graceful fingers searching out just where she needed him to press against her, Rachel had to bite into his shoulder to keep from screaming into the empty classroom. 

It was almost too much, a cliche if ever there was one, the choir director feeling up his favorite pupil on his desk (because she had no doubt, of course she was his favorite, she always had been, not even he could deny it), and she’d shake her head at the grand improbability of it all if Mr Schuester hadn’t slid another finger into her, pressing down with his thumb at the exact same second, right where she was grinding her hips for more friction. She wanted him inside of her her, wanted him to fuck her, and it wasn’t schoolgirl dramatics when she thought that she was going to die if he didn’t lie her back across his desk right that second. 

Mr Schue’s mouth found hers again, and he tasted a little more wild, a little more desperate this time, and then her other hand was pushing his jeans down and he shoved the center of her panties to the side, sliding in with one fluid thrust. 

And maybe it should have hurt a little, shouldn’t have been quite so easy, but he swallowed the moan on her lips when he buried himself in her. 

“Jesus, Rachel, why did we wait so fucking long for this.” And then she was leaning back, her shoulders sliding on a pile of manila folders as his fingers pressed into her hips, skirt working up around her waist when he rocked into her again. Looking at him braced over her, it was totally unreal, except it felt so incredible it had to actually be happening. 

"Mr Schuester, oh God, plea-." Her last word was bitten off as he snapped his hips into her. 

He pulled her up again and his lips found her neck, tongue tracing the edge of her earlobe. “God, I love it when you call my name like that, fucked out and desperate for me.” 

“Don’t stop, please.” Rachel threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled tight when his thrust pushed her against the edge of desk, slamming the backs of her thighs against the hard metal. She’d have to wear tights tomorrow to hide the marks, but Rachel was past caring. The only thing that mattered was how his fingers slipped between them, rubbing tighter and tighter circles until she could feel the wave start to push through her. She came, shuddering and hard around him when he moaned her name, dark and desperate, into her ear. He followed her a few strokes later, his body tensing before warmth spilled into her. 

In the aftermath, as her heart stopped pounding out the front of her chest but with the thrill of what they’d just done still coursing through her veins, she felt his fingers run absently over her leg and his lips on her neck.

“Mr Schue?” 

"I still don't understand why you think Liesl von Trapp would wear something like this." His voice was a little worse for the wear but his hand cruised around the curve of her knee, sliding up until his palm met the bare skin of her thigh. It tingled under his touch and she tucked her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "No wonder her father kept her locked up. I would, too, if you went out like this every day." 

“Of course Liesl wouldn’t, she was only seventeen. But I think maybe Maria might have, if her husband was as kinky as mine.” She could feel his lips on her temple, a smile curved against her skin.“Besides, if I recall correctly, they were your idea.” 

Will laughed and slipped his hand into hers, the fluorescent classroom light glinting off the band on his finger that matched hers. He shifted his himself so he could press a kiss to her lips, soft and familiar. “Three years of you in plaid skirts and knee socks in the front row of my class every day, and I still get the rap for having a sliver of a schoolgirl fetish?” 

“I couldn’t very well do this then to show you how I felt, could I?” Rachel nipped his bottom lip. “Besides, my methods clearly worked.” 

“The girl with a plan for everything.” Fondly, Will smoothed a hand down her hair and straightened the edge of her blouse, arranging it to cover the purpling skin on her clavicle. Glancing at the clock, Rachel pulled away, noticing there were only ten minutes until the bell rang for third period. The drama room was across campus and her sophomores went a little nuts if she was late. Will reluctantly let her go, cleaning himself up and tucking his shirt back in. Hopping off the desk, Rachel leaned over to pluck her bobby pins off the linoleum, and felt him behind her, his hands at her waist. 

“You do that again, I can’t be trusted not to keep you after school for detention.” 

“We’ve got a date with the glee club, remember? We’re singing Edelweiss for Rodgers and Hammerstein week.” Rearranging her clothes, Rachel leaned up on her toes and kissed Will gently. “Besides, if you’re really good, we can call in sick next week and play hooky for the day.” Adjusting his tie, Rachel brushed a speck of dust off his shoulder. “Who knows, maybe I can play teacher this time.” 

A wicked smile curved on his mouth and he wrapped her in his arms one last time. “I’ll bring you an apple, Ms Berry.” 

“You’d better.” Rachel gathered her things and on her way to the door, she tossed him her brightest grin. “Thanks for the chance to clear that tardy off my record, Mr Schue!” 

The groan that followed her out the door kept her smiling the rest of the day.


End file.
